The Problem With Power (Alternate Scene)
by magdalene 1024
Summary: A 'what if' scene in the He-Man episode "The Problem with Power"


_ "__The Problem With Power" has always been one of my most favorite episodes, and was so excellently written that for a long time, I put off writing this fanfic because after all, what could I possibly write that would even compare or add to the original story? _

_I had no desire to conflict or rewrite the story. It had just simply occurred to me that Adam's behavior was so out of character, that surely __**somebody**__ should have noticed._

_It had also struck me that although the show had oftentimes touched upon Adam's feelings of inadequacy concerning his relationship with his father, we never saw how Randor felt about the situation. With such a huge secret between them, it seems that Randor would have surely picked up on the fact that Adam was no longer completely honest and open with him, and would have wondered why._

_The events of this story take place during "The Problem with Power"—in between the scenes where Duncan tells King Randor that He-Man is no longer available, and when Orko comes to tell Adam that it was all a trick. I hope you enjoy, and please send me feedback!_

_Author's Note: With the exception of this added scene, the reader may presume that the rest of the episode went as originally shown._

**THE PROBLEM WITH POWER**

**(A "What If?" story)**

King Randor of Eternia watched helplessly as his son mounted the stairs to the towers. The youth's back was bowed down, as though the weight of the world pressed upon his shoulders.

He wanted desperately to go after Adam, ask him what was wrong—yes, the boy was undoubtedly worried about Teela, but Randor sensed there was much more to the whole situation.

Familiar frustration welled up in the king—the same frustration that had been building up for three years. He wanted to talk to Adam, to _really _talk to Adam—but he was afraid. Afraid that he would get the noncommittal answer that was really no answer, afraid that he'd hear another long-winded tale that served no point and gave him no insight to this…_stranger_, who he called his son.

_Ancients forgive me, _Randor thought wearily, _but it's the truth. Somewhere along the way, Adam became somebody who I don't know. Duncan's more of a father to the boy than I am, now. As much as I hate to admit this…_the king bit his lip reflexively and sighed. But there was no escaping the resentment he felt towards Duncan and Adam.

He was jealous, pure and simple. In the past three years, the two had grown close—establishing a father-son bond that Randor despaired no longer existed between himself and Adam, as it should.

He'd tried not to mind, when it first started. After all, Adam had been sixteen years old—an awkward age Randor remembered well. He'd felt that _his _parents didn't understand him, and often sought others for advice. And if Adam were going to ask another man for guidance, then Randor could at least take comfort in the fact he'd chosen an excellent role model for himself, right?

But it didn't help. It never had. Day by day, bit by bit, he'd watched his son change into an enigma. Adam always put across a carefree, laid-back attitude, but…sometimes it rang false, hinting at an undercurrent of secrecy in the boy's life-secrets that his own father was not privy to. _I am the King of Eternia, responsible for knowing the needs and wants of my people—but I don't know what my own son needs and wants. I don't know his hopes, or his dreams, or his worries—I don't even know what his favorite color is anymore! _

The barrier between father and son was firmly in place now, and Randor didn't know how to breach it. He wanted to follow Adam up the stairs, find out what was causing the boy so much pain—the king was no fool, he could see that something was gnawing at his son's soul.

But what if he went up those stairs and to his child? Walked up behind him and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder…only to have Adam shrug it away, shrug _him _away, as he'd been doing for the last three years?

He'd tried so hard to not let Adam see how left out he felt every time the boy turned away from him. He tried to ignore the hurt he felt when he walked in on Adam and Duncan, engaged in some lively conversation that immediately died down when he entered the room. Then the boy would make some excuse to leave. Clearly Adam didn't feel comfortable around him anymore.

He knew that Adam confided in Duncan—he was the one who the prince turned to if he had a crisis, or an idea, or perhaps a crush on some young lady. Randor had tried not to be bitter over this—but he couldn't help it. These were things **he** should be talking about with his son…but Adam never approached him. He just simply went straight to Man-At-Arms.

Duncan knew everything about his boy—he _understood_ him.

He'd wanted nothing more in life than to be a good father to the only child he had left, but somewhere along the line, Adam decided he didn't need him. _Did I fail you somehow, Adam? What did I do wrong, and how do I put it right between us again?_

Man-At-Arms watched his king's eyes follow the prince out of the room. A wave of guilt swept over Duncan. _If it were Teela in so much distress, I'd want to know what was wrong, I'd want to go to her, help her…_he closed his eyes against the tears…at this moment, Teela was racing to her own death. Only Adam, as He-Man, had a chance to save her, but right now the young man was so burdened by shame…

…They'd all tried. Orko, the Sorceress, himself. But Adam could be stubborn as well as principled—oftentimes being harsher on himself than his father and Teela combined could be, if they only but knew…

…If only.

Adam was a good man—far better than anybody realized. He'd taken on an incredible responsibility at such a young age, with no preparation and no idea what he was getting himself into. He'd only rarely complained—and Duncan certainly sympathized with the young man's plight. It wasn't easy to give up your own life, your own _identity_, for the sake of others. Adam had sacrificed so much of himself, and had asked for nothing in return.

But maybe…maybe they'd asked _too_ much of him. Adam _had _to be He-Man; there was no question of that. But did they really have the right to ask him to give up being Adam in the process? Was it right to put a boy—who desperately wanted his father's love and approval—into a situation where he could never earn them on his own merits? Surely the Ancients who had decided Adam's destiny eons ago hadn't meant for the lad to be estranged from his father?

He made up his mind—to hell with the Ancients. Duncan could no longer keep Randor and Adam separated with clear conscience.

"Your Majesty," he said softly.

The king turned to him, slowly. "Duncan," he said, sounding surprised that the other man was still there. "Shouldn't you be—"

"That can wait," Man-At-Arms interrupted. He sighed, "After all, we both know we can't stop the goblin army. Only one man can do that."

"He-Man," the king replied, with a sigh of his own. "If only we could get him back."

Duncan drew in a deep breath, trying to calm the pounding of his heart. "We might still, Your Highness," he said, shakily. He closed his eyes at the sudden hope on the king's face. _Adam, forgive me—I should have done this sooner. _He opened his eyes again, slowly. "He'll come back if you ask him to."

"Where do I find him?" Randor asked desperately.

In answer, Duncan raised his arm and gestured at the very steps Adam had just taken.

Randor's eyes followed the other man's pointing finger. He felt his heart stop, then start up again, beating like thunder. The room blurred, then brightened up once more. What Duncan was implying…what Duncan was _saying…._"By the Ancients…" he whispered, "Duncan, you don't mean…" he trailed off as his Man-At-Arms nodded.

A million questions raced through the king's mind—they could wait. He dashed up the stairs, circling 'round 'til he reached the towers. He skidded slightly to a halt as he reached the top.

There, with his back to him, was Adam, staring desolately out in the direction Teela had taken. The breeze tugged at the blond hair, revealing the strong profile—and for the first time, Randor _saw. How could I have been so blind?_

He came up behind the boy—the man—quietly, so as not to startle him, and slid over to the railing, taking a place beside his child. Adam elected to not acknowledge his presence.

Randor searched desperately for the right words. He somehow had to break through to his son—to comfort him, to convince him—to take up his duty again.

And more importantly, to let him know he loved him. He heard an echo of words said to He-Man once, in a dank corridor of Snake Mountain…_"It's hard for a father to say I love you"…and He-Man—__**Adam**__-answering, "It's hard for Adam to say it too…."_

This would take getting used to.

Instinctively, he put his hand over Adam's. And Adam, out of habit, began to pull his away.

Not this time. Randor gripped tightly to his son's fingers and laced his own between them, not letting them slip from his grasp. Adam looked down at their intertwined hands in surprise, and his eyes shot upward to meet his father's face. "Adam, please tell me what's troubling you," Randor heard himself say gently.

The familiar, hidden look that Randor had come to hate so much crept over Adam's features. "I'm just—worried about Teela," he replied quietly, in an odd voice that Randor hadn't heard for years. He searched his son's face—but too late, the indiscernible disguise was firmly in place.

Time for total honesty between them, now. Randor put together his next sentence with a mix of dread and relief coursing through him. "Duncan told me the truth, Adam."

The prince turned ashen, and the hand Randor held trapped in his own trembled slightly. "Told you the truth about what, Father?" He asked, unable to keep the tremor out of his voice.

No going back now. "About you…and He-Man."

Adam's invisible mask crumbled, revealing a man who, Randor realized, was neither He-Man the Hero nor Prince Adam the Fool…just…Adam. "No," Adam whispered, denying. "He wouldn't…" blue eyes searched the king's dark ones. He spoke again, his voice wobbling noticeably, "He really did tell you—" he pulled his hand away quickly, and buried his face in both. "I'm sorry," he choked out. "I—" his ability to speak gave out as he stood there silently, shoulders shaking.

Randor stared at his son, at a loss of what to say next. He felt guilty, as if he'd stripped his child naked and exposed him to the world—but wasn't that what he'd just done? Stripped the boy of both his He-Man persona and Prince personas…leaving just plain, ordinary Adam standing there? _By the Ancients, child, how did you do it? How were you able to be two entirely different men and not lose your mind? You never breathed a hint, never made a mistake—_

-No, that wasn't entirely correct. He again recalled that trip where Adam had insisted on being his guard. He'd been captured by Beast-Man, and rescued by He-Man—he and the warrior had to fight their way out of Snake Mountain. He'd told He-Man that he'd once had a good left hook—but he'd never once told Adam about that. But afterwards, in the Attak-Trak, Adam had teased him about it. And he remembered wondering then at the possibility…_You were trying to tell me then and I didn't hear you…_

He pushed that aside—they could talk about that later. "Adam," he said, reaching up and pulling his son's hands away from his face. The blond head remained bowed; eyes fixed firmly on the floor. "Adam, look at me. Please. Time is of the essence."

Adam's head snapped up at the commanding voice, his face the picture of misery. Randor felt his heart wrench. "Son-I know this isn't easy for you, and I'd give anything to take this experience away from you." He took a deep breath, and continued on, firmly. "But people make mistakes—even He-Man." Adam turned away from his father's scrutiny. "Adam—you must face up to it. You can't hide from this forever."

"I'm not," Adam protested weakly.

"You are," Randor countered. "You're so used to doing it that you don't even **see** that you're doing it. You hide behind He-Man, you hide behind Prince Adam, and now…now you're just hiding."

Adam cast his eyes downward again. Randor released his hands and moved his own up to Adam's shoulders, giving them an affectionate squeeze.

"I know He-Man," he began quietly. "And I know Prince Adam. But I don't know Adam the man, who worries, or doubts, or dreams. But I do know that any man who could put the welfare of an entire planet ahead of his own wants is a good man-who isn't the type turn his back on Eternia, for fear of making errors," Randor's voice broke. "I am so very proud of you…for having the courage and the inner strength to try to do what others wouldn't even imagine."

Slowly, his son looked up at him, searching his face. Then, to Randor's relief, a small smile tugged at the corners of Adam's mouth. "Thank you…"

Randor impulsively pulled his boy into a hug—and felt elation rush through him when Adam hugged him back—a _real _hug, not the stiff embraces Adam usually gave him.

"Adam! Adam!" A voice floated on the wind. Father and son broke apart to see Orko—a very _small_ Orko-flying towards the tower. "Adam—oh, hi, Your Majesty!" Orko said, seeing Randor. "Uh, Adam, can I talk to you about something? It's really important, you know what I mean?" He winked at Adam slyly.

Adam glanced over at his father, then back at Orko. "He knows, Orko. You can go ahead and say it."

"He knows?" Orko repeated. "Wow—how did he—"

"Orko…" Adam began.

"Sorry," the Trollan replied. "But Adam, it's incredible—I just escaped from Skeletor, and you're not gonna believe what I found out! It was all a trick!"

Adam looked as bewildered as Randor felt. "What was?"

"The accident! The villager was really Tataran, in disguise! He doesn't have a heart, you know," Orko turned to the king to explain, "So when He-Man couldn't find a heartbeat and thought he'd killed him—"

Adam's face lifted considerably, and he burst out, "I played right into Skeletor's hands!"

"He knew your conscience all too well, it seems," Randor murmured. A sinking feeling crept up over him. Did even Skeletor know Adam better than his own father did?

"Well, don't just stand there!" Orko said impatiently. "Hurry up and—" a quick peep at the king, as if confirming that he **really** knew the truth, "—turn into He-Man and go finish off that gate before old Bonehead can bring the goblin army through!"

"Yes, son, you must hurry," Randor agreed.

A guilty look spread over Adam's face. "It's not that easy," he murmured.

"What's hard about it?" Orko demanded. "Just take the sword and ZAP—"

"I threw the sword into the abyss." Adam broke in.

Orko's eyes widened in horror. "Oh Adam, you didn't!"

Adam bit his lip, thinking quickly. "Father, I need a skysled. I have to get to Grayskull fast."

"Grayskull? But why? And what does a sword have to do with anything?" Randor asked, confused. Still so much he didn't know!

"The sword is…how I channel the power of Grayskull," Adam explained. "When I renounced my power, I flung it into the abyss—"

"And without it, he can't become He-Man!" Orko finished.

Randor looked at his son. "Then you haven't any time to lose." He wanted to go, he wanted to share in Adam's adventure—but this was something the prince had to do by himself.

Adam nodded. "I'm on my way," he said, running for the stairs, Orko right behind him.

"Adam!"

The young man stopped dead in his tracks. "Yes, Father?"

Randor hesitated, and said, "Don't be too rough on Duncan for telling me…I'm sure he's sorry he had to betray your secret."

Adam smiled shyly at him. "I'm not."

Randor felt his heart lift up, and he smiled broadly in return. "Hurry," he urged again.

His son turned and rushed down the stairs, ready to face his destiny again.

Randor stood on the balcony, praying to whomever might be listening for the wellbeing of his son. _Bring him back safe and sound…so that I might have the chance to get to know my son…my __**real**__ son._

THE END 


End file.
